


Cartography of the Thames

by Keystoffees



Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, Sherlock (TV) RPF
Genre: Benedict's maroon jeans, Biker boots, BikerBatch, F/M, Fluff, Kissing, Romance, Silly obsession with the taste and smell of him, cumberfluff, leather jacket
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 07:17:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2339813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keystoffees/pseuds/Keystoffees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little meeting with Benedict on the South bank of the river.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cartography of the Thames

**Author's Note:**

> For Eroica x

I pulled the scarf tighter around my neck as a gust of cool air blew my hair into my face. The warmth of the afternoon was fading fast, giving way to a late September chill that spoke to the impending autumn waiting around the corner. I stared out across the Thames at the London skyline I never tired of looking at, framed by a watercolour sky of pinks and blues. I shuffled my feet on the concrete slabs beneath the bench. He was always bloody late.

I drifted into a daydream as I waited, and was so completely absorbed by it that I didn't notice his approach until he was standing in front of me in his beloved maroon jeans and black biker boots. I jumped back into reality and for a split second caught my breath while wondering how I hadn't heard the loud roar of his motorbike as he pulled up. He lifted the helmet off and shook his head slightly as I stood up. Even then he towered over me and I stared up at him, smiling, as he ran a hand through his closely cropped auburn hair. Concern was etched into the lines around his eyes.

"So sorry I'm late," he half-panted, half-growled. "I almost came off the bike. Some wanker in a white van ran a red light. Luckily I stopped in time, but... it... was... pretty..." He trailed off as he stared down at me, his eyes now flashing bright green and focusing on my mouth as I licked my lips in the breeze.

He bent a little to place his helmet on the ground and as he straightened, he placed one hand on my upper arm, gripping me tightly with his long thumb and fingers. His eyes met mine and I breathed in, catching just a hint of the scent that could drive me wild; a subtle mix of warm leather, his cologne and his own musky smell. 

The agitation he had displayed just moments ago seemed to have dispersed the second he touched me. His chest rose and fell quickly but he was calm, concentrated on my face; my eyes and my mouth as he moved slowly towards me. I felt his breath close to my face. I opened my mouth a little. 

The first few seconds of contact were as charged as they always were. Like a small tremor rumbling through my body, all the way down my spine and converging between my legs. The start... To be continued.

All the breath left my body as I revelled in the feel of his plump lips against my own. Neither of us moved once we made the first contact, both content to breathe each other in. 

His two-day stubble contrasted his soft mouth as it lingered. Eventually I moved a little, shifting my perspective so I could take some of his bottom lip into my mouth and taste him. I would never forget what he tasted like, even though I could never remember it once he'd gone. It was sweet and salty. It was a tiny hint of tobacco and a whisper of mint. He tasted impossible: warm, velvety, comforting yet dangerous. In my mind he was subconsciously linked to the taste of my own sex, so many times had I cleansed myself from his slick lips. 

My small movement spurred him on. He flicked at me with his tongue, like a tease, an advertisement for something that couldn't happen, not until we were far away from our very public Southbank meeting place. Both his hands ran down my arms until he reached my fingers and took them in his own. I could hear his breathing increasing again, as he took a small step towards me, so our bodies were now pressed against each other. I couldn't ignore how it felt - right - as much as I couldn't ignore the growing pressure of his crotch against my lower stomach. 

Taking my lip into his mouth now, I felt the nip of his teeth on my sensitive skin before he let go and I claimed him back. His face smelled like sweat and motorbike oil and something sweet, like the remnants of chocolate he might have eaten earlier.

As I forcefully lapped up his supply of sensual delights, he pulled back a little and sighed audibly. "I missed you today," he whispered into my mouth. He couldn't see my heart as it swelled, or the corners of my lips as I smiled back, into his wonderful kiss.


End file.
